


Don't Let Me Go

by brightsmile



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, blame the song, don't let me go, or harry, or sam mccarthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightsmile/pseuds/brightsmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t let me go.”</p><p>Harry whispered the words as he watched him (his love, his world) walk away towards the plane that was about to take him hundreds and hundreds of miles away and Harry didn’t really mean for him to hear them.</p><p>But, he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> This took me over three hours and I listened to that song a good thirty times. I think the lyrics have now been burned permanently into my brain...
> 
> But it was worth it.

 

Harry listens to the birds chirping outside the window as he rolls over on his back, keeping his eyes shut tight as the morning sunshine tries to seep through his closed lids.

 

He nearly falls back to sleep when a shadow suddenly dances across his line of sight and his breath catches in his throat, hope surging through his veins and green eyes bursting open as he flies up from his pillow and looks around the room.

 

_The oh so empty room._

 

Sighing, he pushes himself out of bed and shuffles sock covered feet across the floor until he’s stooped over the windowsill, elbows holding him up as he cranes his neck out the opened window to watch a single white cloud float across the sky, casting shadows across the world and shielding the sun from his view.

 

He continues to watch even as the yellow star slowly appears until it’s fully emerged from behind the cloud and he’s forced to squint as the bright lights nearly blind him.

 

But, he can’t look away.  Not when the brilliant sunlight reminds him of the day _they_ met.

 

After a few minutes of staring up at the sky and breathing in the fresh morning air, Harry backs away to get ready for the day.

 

Staggering over to the dresser, he pulls out clean boxers, a pair of jeans, and a faded black t-shirt, dressing quickly before he begins the daily search of locating where he kicked his shoes off the night before.

 

He quickly finds one on the floor just beside the bed and figures it only makes sense that the other must be somewhere near.

 

Groaning slightly, he crouches down, stretching out on his stomach and slowly army crawls a few inches under the bed, squinting a bit until his eyes adjust to the shadowy darkness.

 

His gaze glides across the dust bunnies until he spies the missing shoe, tipped on its side, near the top of the bed.

 

Stretching his arm out, his fingers curl around one of the frayed laces victoriously when something sharp pricks into his wrist and causes him to yank the limb back in surprise.

 

Upon further inspection, he discovers a shard of glass sticking into his skin just below his wrist. Pulling it out with his fingertips, he slides further under the bed, batting the shoe out of the way.

 

When his eyes fall on the object shoved up in the corner where the bed frame meets the wall, it feels as though another piece of the glass pierces through his chest and stabs right into his pounding heart.

 

The picture frame is face down, hiding the photograph it contains in its pile of broken glass that’s been there ever since Harry hurled it at the wall and watched it slip behind the bed with tears streaming down his face after that one, heartbreaking phone call.

 

The phone call with _him_.

 

The phone call with _him_ that prompted Harry to pick up the nearest picture of his smiling face and fling it across the room in a hurt-filled rage when the words  “ _I can’t come home for a little longer Harry, you’ve got to understand”_ were murmured into his ear.

 

Blinking away the sudden onslaught of hot, stinging tears at the memory, Harry grabs his shoe and rolls out from under the bed before getting to his feet and sitting on top of his wrinkled comforter.

 

Tying his laces tight with trembling fingers, he tries not to think about broken picture frames and shattered glass and smiling faces and bright blue eyes and the fact that he’s been sleeping alone for almost three months.

 

_“Don’t let me go.”_

 

Harry whispered the words as he watched him (his love, his _world_ ) walk away way towards the plane that was about to take him hundreds and hundreds of miles away and Harry didn’t really mean for him to hear them.

 

But, he did.

 

And when Niall, _oh so perfect Niall_ ,  stopped in his tracks and turned around, tears sparkling in his cerulean eyes to find Harry staring at him with wide eyes and arms stretched wide open, he dropped his backpack to the ground and ran.

 

Straight into Harry’s arms and pushed up on his tiptoes to mold their lips together and mix their tears together and whisper over and over about how he’d never, _ever_ let Harry go.

 

Even though he did, in a way, he did have to let Harry.

 

Niall eventually had to slide his fingers out of Harry’s hair and unwind his arms from around his neck and whisper one last watery “goodbye” against his lips before going over to pick up his bag and sprint out to his plane before he missed his flight.

 

Shaking the memory from his head, Harry wanders out into the empty apartment, focused only on getting his daily cup of coffee before he has to go out and face the world.

 

However, he’s once again whisked away from reality when his fingers curl around the coffee mug Niall sent him after his first week away from home.

 

The one with the star painted on it that Niall said reminded him of Harry’s tattoo.

 

The one Harry’s just burned his hand on after overfilling it with scalding hot coffee after not paying attention to what he’s doing.

 

He sets the cup down, clenching his burning hand into a fist before walking over to the sink to run cold water over it to stop the pain.

 

It’s a pity really, that the cold water can’t soothe the pain in his heart as well.

 

Harry wonders if it’s sad that he’s constantly on the lookout, watching the door, watching the streets, watching the news, watching everything with his eyes wide open for some kind of hint that Niall will be home soon.

 

He also wonders if it’s pathetic that it’s only seven in the morning, but he can’t wait for tonight.

 

Because that’s when Niall calls.

 

And although the phone call always ends the same way, day after day after day, it will never cease to be the highlight of Harry’s night.

 

Niall will tell him about his day and all the amazing things he’s gotten to experience and he’ll pause at the end of his stories and they’ll both listen to the other’s breathing over the phone for a bit before Harry always asks:

 

_“Do you know when you’re coming home?”_

 

And every time, Niall sighs before saying, _“No, Harry, darling. I don’t, I’m sorry.”_

 

Harry will chew on his lip and murmur, “ _I’m tired of feeling alone.”_

 

And each time, Niall says, _“I know.”_

 

Which makes Harry wipe at his eyes and mumble, _“I’m tired of sleeping alone.”_

 

And every day, Niall says, _“Me too.”_

 

So Harry swallows the lump in his throat and whispers, sometimes so quietly that he can’t even hear himself:

 

_“Don’t let me go.”_

 

And Niall always, _always_ say:

 

“ _I won’t.”_

 

And Harry believes him.

 

Because he’s never letting Niall go either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Hope you all liked it xx
> 
> Also on my tumblr:  
> http://narryblush.tumblr.com/post/52919918980/dont-let-me-go


End file.
